by Cecily White
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
“Oh, for goodness sake.” I lifted my little finger and crossed it over my chest. “Pinkie swear.”
He grudgingly let me slide his brown leather shoulder holster over one arm then the other. I tried to ignore the warm electric current that zipped through me when the back of my hand brushed his skin. The sparks didn’t startle me anymore, but I still had trouble not staring at them.
Weapons safely set to the side, I lifted up his shirt carefully, then helped him work the stretchy white cotton over his head. The guy had given up everything for me; the last thing I wanted was to hurt him. When his shirt finally fell to the ground, my breath caught in my throat. A swollen bluish-purple splotch ran lengthwise along the left side of his abdomen and little lines of red stood out where blood vessels had broken. I sank to my knees in front of him.
“Oh, Jack,” I whispered, gingerly touching the swollen skin over his ribs.
It had been years since I’d taken first aid, but I had yet to forget what internal bleeding looked like. The whole left side of his abdomen was swollen with blood, leaving angry red and black streaks down his body almost as dark as the tattooed glyphs on his arms. “You have to let me heal you.”
“No.”
“It’s not a suggestion. Whatever Hansen did to you, you’re still bleeding inside. I have to fix it or you’re going to die.”
He was silent. We both knew it didn’t matter what he said. Worst case scenario, he’d spend the next few hours suffering, then once he passed out from internal bleeding or agony I would heal him anyway. Of course, I didn’t say that out loud. Most guys prefer you at least pretend their opinion matters.
“Think of it as a public service,” I reasoned. “If you die, whoever killed all those people will go free. I’ll be a fugitive for the rest of my life. Then I’ll perish, old and miserable and alone, all because you were too stubborn to let me help you. Is that what you want?”
Jack narrowed his gaze. “You give frequent flyer miles with that guilt trip?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “You in?”
He drew what should have been a slow breath, but ended up as a wet, hacking cough. Tiny specks of blood stained the back of his hand as he swiped it across his mouth.
“Jack, come on. I can’t do this without you.” My voice quieted, all hint of humor stripped away. My fingers itched to touch his face, to smooth the lines of fatigue and stress from his forehead. “I need you.”
After a brief hesitation, he nodded. “Okay. But not like in assembly,” he cautioned. “If there’s a tracker nearby, he’ll sense the channel. Besides, I’m worried what effect all this is having on you.”
I shook my head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jack’s lips tightened, belying his reluctance to answer. “Remember before your test you asked me why I wasn’t wearing my glasses?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, at first I thought you just screwed up my prescription,” he said. “It took a few hours to realize that when you healed those scratches on my face, you healed my vision, too. You healed everything. Do you have any idea how much power that takes?”
My eyebrows arched in surprise. All Channelers were trained in acute injuries, but existing deficits weren’t something we could do normally. Not unless there was some intense anomaly or special ritual with it. I couldn’t help feeling a tiny flicker of pride.
“Cool. I’m like a paranormal Dr. House.”
“Dr. Frankenstein, maybe.” He smiled, slower this time. “All right, but be careful. And just the internal stuff. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
It was actually a huge compliment that Jack believed I could control my powers enough to stop. And I really tried. When my fingers came to rest against his stomach, I didn’t think about kissing him. I didn’t think about how my heart pounded in perfect time with his. I ignored the velvet warmth of his skin, his breath ruffling my hair, the impossible tingles shooting down every inch of me. I didn’t wonder how his body would feel, tight and warm, intertwined with mine—
“Enough.”
Jack’s voice was husky in my ear as he encircled my wrists with his hands and gently pushed me away. Soft and reluctant, the threads of light dissipated. I sat back, dizzy.
“Are you okay?”
“I think so,” I said, half-knowing it was a lie. “Give me a minute.”
I stumbled to the bathroom, willing my heart to slow. The tile wall felt cool against my forehead, but my thoughts still raced. Maybe Jack was right. Maybe I really was dangerous. At the very least it made me wonder if I shouldn’t be more careful sharing power with him.
By the time I returned with Lisa’s first aid kit, Jack was upright on the edge of the bed, poking a tentative finger at the area that used to be black and blue. I could still see a faint outline of the bruise, but it had faded to the greenish brown of an old wound rather than the vicious hue of a mortal injury. Color had returned to his face as well. As I knelt next to him again, a silent wave of gratitude washed through me.
“Does this hurt?” I pressed the tips of my fingers to his abdomen where the bruise had been.
“A little tender, but it’s okay.”
“How about your face? Looks like it stings.”
Jack shrugged. “I don’t get paid for being pretty.”
“As of this morning, I doubt you get paid at all.” I dabbed at his forehead with an alcohol swab. “I could just heal you without permission.”
“You could try.”
I frowned at him. “Does the word ‘stubborn’ mean anything to you?”
He grinned.
“Quit smiling. You’ll split your lip again.” Jack sat still while I smeared a glob of antibiotic ointment on his eyebrow then started on the cut at his lip. “Seriously, why didn’t you bond at graduation?” I asked, mostly to break the tension. “I get it if your first assignment was a flop, but what about other Channelers? Hansen, for example? She was totally into you. Before she tried to kill you, I mean.”
Jack made a pained face. “Yeah, Lori and I have an unusual relationship.”
“Why’s that?”
“For starters, she was in my graduating class at Monroe. She kind of mentored me through some hard times,” he admitted. “Plus, she was my flop of a bond assignment. Ow!”
“Sorry.” I put the alcohol swab away, trying not to hyperventilate. “So, why’d you refuse her?”
He lifted one eyebrow. “Do the words ‘none of your business’ mean anything to you?”
“Touché. But she can’t have been the only one.”
Jack shrugged again, his eyes flitting to the window. “There was someone else, but it was a long time ago. I doubt she remembers me.”
“You’re not exactly forgettable. Hold still.” With a Q-tip, I dabbed some antibiotic on his lip, then wiped off the excess with the back of a knuckle. As soon as I touched him, my body vibrated with his power, like an itch aching to be scratched. “Did you ever tell her how you felt?”
“Who?”
“The girl. Duh.”
He laughed. “It didn’t exactly happen like that. I barely knew her, just from the playground in elementary school. Then, one night at a PTA event, we got caught in the crossfire of a battle. I don’t even know what happened. One second, we were all playing hide-and-seek, then the next thing I knew the air was on fire and people were dying. I hid behind a couch with the other kids and watched our parents get ripped to shreds by a demon lord. There was nothing any of us could do. I remember how fragile she felt huddled next to me, but all I could think was that we were going to die. I was going to die.” Jack stopped, examining me. I waited a few seconds for him to continue, but he didn’t.
“Well, what did you do?” I asked.
“I didn’t do anything,” he said. “Most of the kids started running. I tried to run, too, but she wouldn’t let me. She grabbed a piece of broken glass and stabbed me in the hand.” He smiled as if the memo
ry was a fond one. “I never saw it coming. She did the same thing to herself, then she wrapped her snotty little kid fingers around mine and opened a channel so powerful it took out the demon lord, his minions, and an entire city block of lesser fiends. I’ve never been so terrified in my life.”
Jack brought his right hand out from behind him and held it open. In the middle of his palm was a small, C-shaped scar curving through the center of his lifeline. It reminded me of the one I’d gotten when I fell off the monkey bars at Lisa’s house in second grade, only mine was more jagged.
I ran my thumb over the scar as I processed what Jack had said, a sharp wave of envy rising in my throat. If he and this girl had exchanged blood and shared that level of power, then according to what I’d overheard in the locker room they were two-thirds of the way done with the Guardian bonding ritual. All they had to do was say the right words to each other and they would be bonded. Forever.
“So, what happened?”
He shrugged. “Nothing. When I woke up she was gone, my folks were dead, and the Elders had reassigned me to residential in Monroe. They said we were too young. It was deemed an illegal bonding and I never saw her again.”
His words hung in the air, hollow and sad. The sounds of distant traffic snaked in through cracks around the windowpanes, and I expelled a soft breath. Chills ran up my arms, an odd contrast to the warm slant of afternoon light through the transom windows.
“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Jack gave a tight, humorless smile and rose from the bed. “Miss Bennett, I don’t mean to be rude, but I also need to wash up before we leave. If you don’t mind…”
I rocked back on my heels, trying to pretend he hadn’t just driven an icicle into my heart. Not like I was expecting him to kiss me again, but I at least hoped to graduate to a first name basis. I sat perfectly still, studying him carefully.
“Jack, what about me?” I asked.
He gave me a strange look. “You can shower on your own. I may be stuck with you, but I’m not your nanny.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I mean, what if I wasn’t a student? What if you’d met me next year and there wasn’t all this stuff with murderers and demons and people dying? And don’t say you’re too old for me,” I warned, before he could start in with excuses. “There are only three years between us. By the time I graduate, three years won’t mean squat. I’m just asking, if things were different, would you consider…Would you ever, you know, think of me? That way?”
I could tell my face was red. It burned like someone had lit a fire under my chin. Jack stood motionless, brilliant light streaming behind him like something out of the Sistine Chapel. Sunbeams curved around his body, carving out the peaks and valleys of each chiseled muscle. Jeez, this would be so much easier if he wasn’t so beautiful.
After the longest, most painful five seconds in the world, Jack let out a slow exhale. “Miss Bennett—”
“Never mind.”
It was all I needed to hear. Nothing that started with my surname was going to end in a passionate declaration of desire. And given how today had gone, I didn’t think I could take another rejection.
“It’s okay. Forget I asked.”
I rose in humiliated silence and hurried into the bathroom before the tears could fall. What an idiot I’d been, mooning over him at school, making an ass of myself at assembly. Everything I’d felt—the déja vu, the visions, the weird feeling like we’d known each other forever—it was all just a stupid, hormonal response to my unrequited crush.
The door securely locked, I huddled in the corner, porcelain wall tiles cold against my shoulder blades. A thin sheen of mildew covered the lower half of the shower curtain, its nastiness surpassed only by a few furry lines of black mold around the base of the tub. I spun the knob above the faucet until steam billowed out from behind the curtain.
“Miss Bennett.” Jack rapped hard on the wooden surface. “Please, open the door.”
I didn’t answer. What could I say? I’d had my share of humiliating moments, most of them witnessed by members of the school administration. But I’d always managed to escape with some shred of dignity. This time, not so much.
“I know we’ve had some mixed signals,” Jack said through the door, “but the situation is complicated. There are things you’re not mature enough to understand.”
“By all means, then,” I called through the door, “keep lying to me. It’s worked brilliantly so far.”
“Miss Bennett—”
Overcome with impatience, I stormed to the door, twisted the lock, and yanked it open. “Look, I’m having kind of a rough day, okay? Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the rescue and all, but in the past twelve hours I’ve been starved, drugged, tortured, chased, shot at, ripped from my family and friends, and forced to watch helplessly while the only guy I’ve ever—” I stopped, uncertain. “While my substitute teacher nearly had his brain melted by a psychotic former cheerleader. All in all, not one of my top ten Wednesdays.”
Jack scrubbed a weary hand down his face. “Lori was never a cheerleader.”
“I. Don’t. Care.” I started to close the door again but changed my mind. “And my name is Amelie. Ah-muh-lee. If we’re going to be stuck with each other the least you can do is quit acting so pompous and treat me like an equal.” I gave him my sternest look, then slammed the door as hard as I dared, lest it fall off its termite-riddled hinges. Little flecks of paint chipped off at the impact.
Angry and embarrassed, I stripped off Lyle’s shirt and stepped out of my underpants, balling it all into a tight missile. They made a satisfying thunk against the door, right where Jack’s stupid face had been a moment ago.
I didn’t know why I was so angry. This wasn’t his fault. With the way he looked, girls probably threw themselves at him all the time. So his big crime had been what? That he kissed me? What was he supposed to do, beat me away with a stick?
More than anything, I was upset with myself. I’d long held the credo that the best way to be disappointed was to set high expectations. So, what did I think was going to come out of a crush on the most unattainable person in the galaxy?
The water felt amazing against my shoulders, as if it could burn off all the sweat and horror of the day. I spent nearly an hour in the shower with the secret hope that I might use up all the hot water before Jack got in. Unfortunately, my hands and feet started to prune long before it showed any signs of cooling. My clothes were still in Lisa’s backpack, so I settled for one of the oversized white bath towels. For all the economy of our accommodations, the motel certainly spared no expense on towels. They were thick and heavy, like angel clouds you could disappear into. I wrapped one around my head and tucked the other like a strapless gown under my armpits, leaving Jack nothing but a hand towel. Petty, yes, but it made me feel better.
When I emerged, he was waiting silently by the door, hands jammed in his pockets.
“Your turn,” I said coolly as I brushed past him.
Lisa had forgotten to pack a hairbrush, so I did what I could with my fingers and a tube of de-frizzer while Jack showered. I’d just slipped into a lace-edged black tank-top and jeans when the bathroom door squeaked open.
Jack slouched against the doorframe, steam pouring out behind him. He was barefoot and shirtless, frayed jeans riding low on the deep grooves of his hipbones. Water dripped off his hair, tracing thin lines all the way down to his belly button. Even the tattooed glyphs on his arms seemed to stand out more than usual, slick and dark against his tanned skin.
“You’re dressed,” he said.
“Yup,” I confirmed. “More than I can say for you.”
He paused toweling off to scan me from head to toe, just as he’d done the first day I met him. Of course, this time I knew it wasn’t romantic interest motivating the scope-out. He was probably looking for places to conceal a weapon.
“Get your shoes on,” he said. “We leave in ten minutes.”
“I thought you s
aid we didn’t have to be anywhere ‘til nightfall.”
“We don’t.” He finished drying his hair and chucked the hand towel at me. “But if you want to be treated like a ‘grown-up,’ then there are a few things you need to know, Amelie.”
The last word he said with a dry smile. It crinkled the corners of his mouth but didn’t reach his eyes.
“Where are we going?”
“I need to show you something. Something you should have seen a long time ago.” Jack padded across the room to Lisa’s backpack and emptied all but the most essential things: money, keys, weapons…a flashlight?
“We,” he said, “are going sightseeing.”
Chapter Thirteen:
Impossible Things
It would have been easier to hate Jack if he weren’t so nice. The way he kept his hand securely entwined with mine as we crossed into the French Quarter reminded me of those old movies where the dashing hero is charged with protecting the entitled-yet-important heroine. That’s how I felt with him—important.
Creole townhouses rose up on either side of us, cast-iron galleries crawling up the brick walls like vines. Antique shops and art stores huddled at every corner with tourists spilling out of them. For a city that had been burned and rebuilt as many times as this one, New Orleans had an amazing sense of flow. Even the people seemed to float down the street, their pace leisurely and calm. It was the kind of place you could get lost in.
It was perfect.
Jack took care not to hurry. The cut on his lip had already started to heal and his sunglasses covered the scratch on his eyebrow. I guess we looked normal. Or tried to, anyway. I stopped for pralines once so he could scan the street behind us to see if we were being followed. We weren’t. A few blocks later, he thought he recognized someone on the street, so he pulled me into a gift shop and made me try on silly hats until the guy had passed. It was hard not to get sucked into the illusion that we were just two regular people on a date—a little hand-holding, a little conversation. Of course, instead of sweet nothings whispered in my ear, I got brief lectures on evasive techniques.
